Educating Bromley
by Cortexikid
Summary: Mark decides that Bromley's gay education needs to continue, with him as his knowledgeable teacher. Little does he know, that when he was gone, Mike helped Joe out with a few pointers, which ultimately leads Mark to learning a thing or two himself. Mainly, that his best friend is in love with him. And he just might be in love with him right back. Marmike.


**Educating Bromley**

 **By Cortexikid**

 **Chapter 1: Prologue - An Apple For Teacher**

 **Disclaimer: This is a fic about the fictionalised characters within the film "Pride" as they are portrayed. Neither they nor the plot are in any way a reflection of or in connection to any of the real people the film is based on.**

* * *

"You're un-bloody-believable, ye know that?"

Mark Ashton turned to Mike Jackson, flashing him a sly smirk and a wink.

"And don't you forget it."

Mike rolled his eyes at his best friend's default smugness, still riding the adrenaline high of everything that had happened today.

June 29th, 1985. It was certainly a day neither would ever forget.

The last fourteen hours had been charged with jubilation and the night's festivities had been no different.

It was infectious. Neither man could control their matching grins as they stood together outside Gay's The Word.

Taking off his beanie, the Acrington-native ran a hand through his hair, unable to keep the amused beam off his face, even as he tried to argue:

"Seriously, Mark. Ye can't just…Bromley is–"

"Bromley, or Joe, as he made bloody sure I knew, is a big boy, Mike. He'll be fine. I'll be gentle. Start with something simple like the dos and don'ts of Drag, or somethin'. Don't mother him," the Irishman interrupted him with a dismissive wave, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply.

Mike swallowed, a lump forming in his throat as he watched his friend, before shaking his head, trying to not give in to feelings that were always lying not-so-dormant under his skin.

"And besides," Mark quipped, turning on the spot to face his him, "he seemed to do fine under your tutelage. You kept up his education," he finished, passing the cigarette to Mike with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Mike shrugged, taking a drag.

"He…he had questions," he shrugged, "I…did my best."

Mark leaned in to him, their shoulders touching softly.

"You did great, Mike. Bromley was lucky to have you. And Steph and Jeff and the rest of the group…" he trailed off, staring ahead, out into the street in front of Gay's The Word.

A weight descended on them as the silence stretched on. It hung between them, tethering them together, tying them up in knots until they were so entwined that it was hard to spot where Mark finished and Mike began.

Attached at the hip, figuratively and close-to-literally.

Just like old times…

It made Mike's stomach clench uncomfortably, Mark's angered words still echoing in his ears:

 _Do you think that just for once, you could stop following me around like a fucking spaniel and let me have a life of my own?!_

He couldn't allow himself to fall back into bad habits. Mark may have apologised for being a prick about it, but it didn't mean that he didn't have a point. Mike had been entangling his life too much with the Irishman's, their time apart only proved that. The bespectacled man had been at a loss when his best friend left, feeling adrift and aimless for a long time. It was an ache that just grew larger and larger in his chest with every passing day. It went beyond missing him. It was a feeling of not only loneliness, but of confusion. Just who was he without Mark and the cause and a plan to follow? He didn't think he'd ever find out. Would ever have to…

Until one day, Joe came to him with a question, an awkward attempt at seeking advice, really. And the rest…was history.

And it happened without Mark.

Without his warmth and his smile and his own brand of crazy. It was something that was just Mike's that he chose to share with Joe and Jeff and anyone else who needed it. He was no expert, but he was a good listener and had enough experience to help out his younger friends with their love lives and other troubles. He became a confidant, the person they all turned to in times of crisis, of worry, of jubilation.

And it felt good.

But not as good as Mark standing beside him, shoulder brushing his, his dark eyes twinkling as he stared up at the night sky.

Mike foolishly thought he could have both. The person he had found within himself, the same quiet and composed man but now with a little more confidence, a little more direction, and have Mark back, at his side, with his tenacity and ingenuity and rapier wit.

But it wasn't to be.

As soon as he had heard that Bromley's "education" had been somehow continued in his absence, he had swooped in and appointed himself his new teacher.

""I expect an apple on my desk every morning because after all, Brom—Joe," he had winked, gesturing with his can, "nobody has more experience than I do."

Well, he did have Mike there, he supposed.

So things were to go back to the way they were before.

The same old Mark and the same old Mike.

Six months ago, he would have given anything for that to happen.

Now, he wasn't so sure…

"Steph and Jeff," Mark huffed out a laugh suddenly, interrupting Mike's spiralling thoughts, a puff of air rising from his lips, his shoulders hunching as he shoved his hands into his pockets, "sounds like some weird double act."

"Move over Morecambe and Wise," Mike joked, forcing his tone to sound as normal as possible before taking another drag of the cigarette and holding it out.

Mark reached out, his less-than-sober hand bumping against his friend's, their fingers brushing as he took the smoke and brought it to his lips. Mike couldn't help but stare as a familiar warmth pooled in his stomach at his touch.

"You helped him, Mike," he murmured so lowly that the bespectacled man had to lean further into him to hear what he was saying, "you were…you were there for him, for everyone when I—" he broke off, shaking his head, swaying a little, "you're important, Mike. More than…more than you know," he paused, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

Mike found his own tightening with emotion, it swelling in his chest at the Irishman's words.

Mark was rarely ever this…sincere. Not about him.

"You're it, you know," his best friend continued, his tone turning wistful as his gaze returned to the night's sky, "you're the…heart of the group. Without you…" he trailed off, biting his lower lip, clearly struggling with his words.

Mike didn't think he'd ever seen him grapple with his words before. His heart hammered in his chest, hardly believing what he was hearing, what Mark was struggling to say. It was like his friend had read his mind and wanted to sooth his worries.

Mark was definitely drunk. Mike wasn't far behind him.

Turning, the shorter man stared up into his face, his chocolate eyes finally catching his, the cigarette held between them, a little dot of light in the otherwise dark street as he whispered, "this group needs you, Mike…I need you."


End file.
